


Oh Christmas Tree

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [596]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, for TAG SeSa 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 10:28:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: for @ak47stylegirl - "the christmas tree was a lot heavier than it looked"





	Oh Christmas Tree

The argument always started the second they got out of the truck.

“That one is the tallest-”

“No you idiot, wide is best-”

“As long as it’s properly green…”

Scott breathed into his be-gloved hands, silently wishing it would snow.  But it hadn’t snowed in Kansas for Christmas in years; the cold weather had shifted north and now only a biting wind whipped down across the plains to remind them it was winter.  Scott vaguely remembered being four feet tall, his dad and granddad helping him to scrape up the thin dusting to make a tiny snowman once, but he’s not sure when that was, or if he dreamed the whole thing.

That year, the tree had seemed as giant as a redwood and covered with a million gleaming baubles. But he kept to himself his opinion.

As eldest, his job was to mediate and prevent a fistfight in the middle of the firs.

Gordon was already off, dragging Alan with him.  For Gordon, it wasn’t a Christmas tree if he could get his arms around it.  It barely counted if he  _and_  Alan could link arms around it. Gordon had an entire theory about under-tree surface area to presents ratios, and given two glasses of Christmas booze, he’d explain it to you. At length. Extremely detailed length.

Virgil liked height.  Height meant the tallest, or at least the first to fetch the stepladder, got to put the star on top.  The star was an heirloom, bought by grandma’s grandma and carefully packed up and stored each year in the hall closet of the farmhouse rather than getting relegated with the rest of the decorations to a box in the barn.  It was delicate, crystal-strewn, with points still sharp enough to take out a toddler’s eye even after all these years.

Scott didn’t know why the star meant so much to Virgil. Scott had tried the two-drinks trick on Virgil once, a few years back, and all he got for his troubles were drunken rude versions of Christmas carols played on the piano until well after midnight.

He did know why John liked green lushness, however. John’s world was usually grey steel and silver buttons and the infinite inky blackness of space. John was always the one who’d top up the water levels in the base, before anyone else was awake.  Only once was Scott up early enough to witness the way John ran his hands down the branches to breathe in deeply the scent released, taking a moment before the Christmas madness began. John was the one who tried without much success every year to convince Gordon and Alan to stop decorating the tree before it fell over, the one to hold it steady while Virgil placed the star securely on top. John liked green things, and he made no attempt to hide it.

John’s stood next to Scott now, hands in his pockets, as Gordon and Alan disappeared to their left, and Virgil headed to their right where the tallest trees were stood.

“How big an argument do you think they’re going to have this year?” John asked mildly, eyes roving over the serried ranks of trees.

“None, because I called ahead and asked them to cut one fresh and put it aside for us,” Scott grinned, nudging his brother and nodding at the pleased little smile he got back.  “Come on, let’s get it in the truck before the yelling starts.”

As they shouldered the wrapped tree into the truck bed, Scott breathed in deep the smell of green and lost snow and long-gone forests and felt his shoulders relax.

Scott didn’t care how big or how small, how many presents you could fit under it or how many baubles on top. All he cared about was that the tree was real and his family was home.

Scott tilted his head up as grumbling brothers climbed back into the truck, sniffing the changing air, the colder, wetter gust that slipped past his cheek.

Maybe this year, they’d even get snow.


End file.
